Ripped Away
by InnerBeast
Summary: Four years ago, Mark Fischbach's life took a dramatic turn for the worse. He now lives with an insatiable thirst for blood, and an aversion to sunlight. With his name becoming more known as his YouTube career takes hold, he tries to keep his two lives as separate as possible. But sometimes, he fails. Vampire!Mark. Gore. Co Authored by InnerSm1l1ng.
1. Chapter 1: Things Change

Chapter 1: _**Things Change…**_

A sleek black car parked near the entrance to a local restaurant, round headlights catching two men like frightened deer. Its driver side door opened, and a thin man exited its dark frame and casually approached them.

Both stood inches above him, and with full hearted smiles openly threw false hostility towards each other.

Laughing as they entered they sat down at the bar and ordered impatiently. After a few minutes of conversating on the topic of comedy their drinks arrived and the tall and equally larger one, Bob, rose slightly to dramatically propose a toast.

"Lets congratulate Mark on his one thousand subscribers, dude I cant belive it!"

The slimmer one also nodded and rose his glass in the center of the three. Their cups clinked and they threw back their heads taking a largely appreciated drink.

"Thanks guys, you really didnt have to." Mark said, smiling coyly with an open laugh. Suddenly the other thin man, Wade, flicked Mark's glasses in a joking manner.

"Seriously?" He said, his voice taking on the tone of someone who had just enough of his friend's crap.

An hour or so past as they devoured steak, fries, and combinations of any other bar food they could get their hands on.

Unfortunately, the night passed them quickly by, coming to an end.

The cold Cincinnati breeze blanketed Mark's face as he stepped out from the bar. He hugged his two companions as they departed and gave Wade one last push to agitate him. He said his goodbyes and walked back over to his car.

What he heard was a whisper at first, a low crackling static that seemed to emanate from a hoarse throat. Mark looked up as he heard it again.

"Hey!" A small man shot up from a bench against the building, and waved energetically at him. At first Mark was hesitant. A strange man trying to get your attention? Anyone would be suspicious.

Then a thought fluttered through his mind, canceling out the other completely. Maybe he was a fan. One of the thousand people that actually wanted to know if he was going to upload again. He turned towards the man and began to walk over, his curiosity igniting anticipation through his body. The man stepped back a few inches as Mark approached deeper into the alleyway behind them.

"Yes..?" Mark's voice echoed slightly as he stepped once more only to begin retreating in shock after he assessed the situation in his mind fully. Hunched in the entrance of the alleyway the man stood beneath the silhouettes of the street lights, just out of clear perspective. This shadowed man who had seconds ago sounded friendly, smiled crookedly.

A flash, and the man had grabbed Mark forcing him backwards into the shadowed alleyway. As the man held him in place against the wall by his neck with one hand, the YouTuber began struggling and flailing blindly at him trying to hit something, anything, to get him release his iron grip.

His attacker's nail's dug into Mark's neck, cutting off any sound that tried desperately to escape. This sociopath had a smile plastered on his face, a smile that seemed to be carved of stone - and never changing. Mark's blurred gaze caught sight of jagged uncleaned canines, each at least an inch long. Relief, desperation, and inhuman lust plagued the assailants expression as they shakily moved closer to Mark's exposed skin. The man seemed impatient, making his work sloppy. It was as if it was the first time he had to do such dirty work on his own, like his attacker had just arrived from the womb.

The YouTuber let out a cry as the man's teeth connected with skin, puncturing deep into his flesh. The man growled, trying again in a new spot. Unable to locate a fresh and thriving vein in his neck he angrily threw Mark down on the concrete staring him dead in the eyes. He wrapped his hands around his head and got ready to break Marks neck in one move. Close to losing consciousness, he felt his whole essence fade and saw only white as he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, all of the weight of the man was thrown away from him - and he breathed in deep heavy breaths, to afraid to move. He glanced over to see the man's face to his right blown to pieces, bleeding on the concrete. His expression, if you could piece together one from what was left, was of pure shock.

Almost immediately he saw the light whiteness blur again but this time from a flashlight. A local police officer threw commands into his walkie talkie as he hovered over Mark, assessing his injuries. Aside from a most likely sprained neck, he had cuts, scrapes and a broken rib from the impact to the ground. All this along with many small orbital puncture wounds, where the man tried over and over to pierce Marks jugular - luckily missing by less than an inch. He was beaten and bloody, but alive - and mostly confused.

Today was a celebration, not a day to get mugged and brutally assaulted. He had just hit one thousand subscribers on his YouTube channel.

He let his head clear and closed his exhausted eyes listening to the police man calm and reassure him. The officer that saved him had helped him up, and was now also helping him recollect himself.

However, Mark was beginning to feel a new kind of sick.

The world was spinning. It was moving side to side, up and down. It was like it was tottering endlessly. It was never going to stop, was it? The churning of its new waves prompted his stomach to empty. He leaned over and puked up the dinner he had finished earlier in the evening. Steak and fries emptied in hearty chunks as the officer patted him on the back. Mark's world got more painful as the shifting got worse.

As the man began to ask more questions, Mark suddenly felt cramped in the alley. He couldn't stay. All he wanted was his small apartment and bed. He began to beg the officer if he could leave, uselessly trying to persuade him. He shook his head no, insisting he had to stay to fill out his report.

Mark desperately searched for new ways to escape.

Somehow…

He just couldn't handle the dry crumbling red of the brick wall across from him. He couldn't deal with how it moved in front of his eyes, or how his stomach tightened in his body. He had to go. Now.

Suddenly he was thrown an opportunity as the officer shrieked in fear as the man who attacked Mark groaned. Blood spurted from the hole in his forehead as his hands scraped the ground leaving deep gouges from thick nails.

Fear sent a cold shiver throughout Marks spine... He had to get away. He couldn't stay if that freak was getting back up.

"Oh... My... God..." The officer whispered harshly pulling his gun out once again, his hands fumbling. Shaken by the grotesque scene displaying itself in front of him.

Mark was blocks away when he heard two quick gun shots, then a third. He had ran out of the alley and down the street despite the rapid twisting and dancing of the world. He had to stop three times before he pushed through the front door to his apartment and fell to his knees, in intense pain.

Fire. Like the burning of a marshmallow as it slowly crisps the outside until it's encased in a black cocoon of heat and pain. The indescribable amounts of agony he felt melted his skin and scoured his vocals.

He tried to get back up, but was paralyzed. The world grew hazy, then red, then faded to black. His body shocked itself awake suddenly, as if it would not allow him escape from his torment in the merciful arms of sleep.

He laid in his bed for what could have been hours until he was able to move again. It began with the ability to move his fingers, starting with his pinky and then his ring finger. Soon his whole hand was twitching as he loosely maneuvered it. He got feeling back limb by limb until he could successfully sit up. As he did, he noticed the once tender and pierced skin on his ribs didn't feel broken, and the pain in his head and neck was gone.

He circled his head around and around and stood with relief. Frowning, he looked down at his clothes. They were ripped, bloody and masked with dirt. Mark tore off his shirt and paced into the bathroom to shower and as quickly as possible trying to forget everything that had happened previously. He turned on the faucet and passed his arm under it.

The water was freezing, and it sent a passive shiver through Mark's being. He allowed his whole body to shake with the cold, but didn't remove the limb that was being assaulted by the water.

A few seconds later and the water was beginning to warm up, and his arm began to heat up as well.

Mark then finished peeling off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water rushed over his body, taking all the dirt and grime and blood down the drain to hopefully never be seen again.

He finished and exited the shower, sighing heavily.

Maybe it was all a dream. It did feel only like a memory to him – like a thing that had happened to a friend. However a shudder passed through his body every time his mind fished out a stagnant memory. The attack might have seemed like a dream, but the torment he knew was real. He didn't think about what that could have meant.

Of course even the attack being a dream was argued by the multiple bite wounds in his neck, from the man who just couldn't kill him.

The thought vampire crossed his mind, but he quickly moved on from the theory. Vampires weren't real. They were things one read of in fiction, and saw in movies.

Maybe the mugger was an enthusiast. A creeper who had taken an obsession to far, trying to get the real feeling.

He ran a hand through his unruly wet black hair. His apartment seemed just too small at the moment. He felt like a caged animal, with the bars of his cage twisting around, choking him relentlessly.

Mark threw on a jacket and left his apartment. He walked along the streets of Cincinnati breathing in the cool air mindlessly kicking stones and stopping to watch cars pass by. He was incredibly lucky, and didn't know just how to feel.

Pulling out his cell phone he called his first contact, Wade. Though he joked and was a complete asshole to him most of the time they both knew they could count on each other for support, regardless of the reason.

A groggy half awake man answered the phone, "Mark? What the hell do you want? It's like three in the morning!"  
Mark snorted, "Shut up Wade." He smiled then continued, "I was mugged earlier today by some whack job. I was lucky to get the hell outta' there alive, and he almost broke my neck."  
Now fully awake, Wade sat up and spoke. Concern was laced throughout his voice. "You okay?"  
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine just out for a walk and need to tell someone that's all."  
"Mark you just got mugged and now you're walking around at night? Are you asking for it?" Mark smiled widely as he leaned against a wall.

"Shut up Wade." And hung up.  
He was feeling more normal than ever. The fresh air filled his lungs, seeming to purify the scattered pieces of his mind.

Until an attractive blonde walked by. Her stride was confident, the clicking of her heels defined on the concrete.

It was sudden, her stumbling slightly.

She landed on her bare knees, letting out a small cry of surprise.

"Whoa, hey, you okay?" He said approaching her without thinking, offering his hand for help.

The smell hit him then.

The metallic sweet fragrance.

It was warm and comforting, drawing him closer to her with each second it lingered between them. His throat began to ache with an electrifying burn.

Her blood.

The red platelets seemed to call out to him, singing exotic melodies only his ears could transpose. He shook his head fiercely, as he tried to push away the need to grip the woman.

"Hey, you okay?" She asked and he nodded.

She took his strong hand and smiled sweetly looking down at her knees only to see small droplets of crimson fall to the concrete. As soon as the crimson raindrops fell the smell ignited a fire of lust deep in Marks stomach.

She tried to wipe away the blood that was falling with one hand.

The act only brought the smell closer to him.

He instinctively moved closer to her. It was immediate, and without hesitation. His body said no, but his mind...His mind said god yes.

He pounced.

Wrapping an arm around her neck he stood behind her and had her in a tight choke hold, dragging her kicking body into into the shadows. Slowly, her cries and attempts to get free were slowing, until finally, she fell unconscious in his arms. He let her fell to the pavement, hearing the echo of her fall bounce off the nearby walls.

Now what?

His hand clawed through his hair and he bit his lip. He made an instinctive decision and picked her up, bridal style. She was as light as a feather. He moved quickly, quicker than he had ever moved before. He'd never before been scared enough to run this fast. Not that he was initially scared now. He simply moved with an ease and grace astounding to him. Finally, he was in front of his apartment. He had come back in twice as little time than it took him to get out that far out. He took a deep breath, testing if his lungs felt strained.

They didn't.

The woman in his arms began to claw back into consciousness, her heavily made up eyes fluttering. He clenched his jaw, then threw her inside his home.

She landed hard and awkwardly, knocking the wind out of her chest with a _whoosh_.

"What am I doing?" He breathed out softly as she tried to crawl away miserably. He wanted to step forward and he wanted to taste her. The smell throbbing out of her with every beat of her weak heart made Mark's own chest clench.

He wanted to drink in all of her beauty until she was nothing.  
He was fighting these thoughts, nonetheless. This was wrong. So _damn_ wrong.  
But...  
The thought was a part of him, and it wouldn't leave. He couldn't shake it.

Could he actually go through with this?  
The answer horrified him, because he knew…

He could do it.

Hours ago, the thought would have sickened him. It would have sent him into a rant on why it was wrong, why it was a sick thing to think of. He would have laughed at the thought of him actually taking someone life, and how bizarre it even sounded.

But now… now he had changed... he had something ripped away from him. Something from deep inside. Something important.  
Self control? The ability to say that he could do this was wrong?

She struggled as he got on his knees and held her down. The small motions were nothing to him as he held her, moving his face closer to hers.

"You smell like..."

He let his nose brush right next to her jugular.

"Sweet, sweet chocolate."

And chocolate was his favorite.

He then felt his new teeth, the long canines, descend through his gums for the first time with a tiny stab of pain. A small amount of his own blood slipped onto his tongue from where his fangs ripped from under the tight pink flesh.

Mark knew he was about to taint his soul forever, eternally and internally poisoning his blood.

Every excruciating second he held back the more his body bombarded him. His 1000 fans, wherever they were, would never know or forgive him for what he was about to do.

For what he desperately needed to do.

His fangs slid in easily, and he clamped her neck in his jaws. Her blood, like hot chocolate, collided with his saliva and filled his mouth to the brim. It was like the nectar of gods.

He had done the unimaginable.

And he continued to do the unimaginable.

And continued...

And _continued..._

Then the girl wined softly as she fell unconscious from blood loss.

Mark pulled his canines from the woman's neck he watched as the translucent ribbons fall and dance within one another, dripping down and staining the carpet beneath.

He stood looking down at the pitiful pile that was once considered a woman. A smile was present on his lips as he stared at her now shaking body. It was the last motion she would ever make before she left her body completely.

The YouTuber gave a dark chuckle as he stared down at his now ruined shirt and jacket. Her... well, her blood's sweet scent lingered there.

What an experience... that was... it felt like he had taken a trip into a new heaven.

One stained in crimson and sewn together with screams.

Mark left the body where it drew its last breath as he went to the bathroom. The first thing he saw was his eyes. They were molten glowing orbs, red as blood and shining with what could only be the cool luminances of the moon. He still had a reflection despite his conclusion. He was a vampire now - no doubt against that. He let his fangs descend and slid his tongue over them, feeling their power and mystique. They were perfect, shiny and deadly. Unlike those of the man who had attacked him.

Mark made a small commitment to himself that he would make sure they stayed that way. His smile, still present, grow bigger.

He sighed in contentment.

**_Next Time…_**

Four Years Later…

It wasn't who he was, and it never will be.

He hated his curse, and he hated his diet.

They were just animals.

He took a sip…

For his fans.

* * *

**A/N**

**Hi Guys! If you liked this,**

**please**

**Please **

**PLEASE**

**Share it with a friend and like make them love it as well. (seriously shove your, like phone in their face or something)**  
**This is a collab between me and my friend Sm1l1ng. (hence InnerSmiling)**  
**We put HOURS into editing this, and that is not even how much time we put into writing it in the first place. **  
**We really appreciate Mark for what he does.**  
**But we also love Darkiplier.**  
**hehe.**  
**This Fan fiction was inspired by Things In the Night By TheGoreyMakeUpGirl**  
**Please, if you liked this, go check it out. It is, like, for real, our favorite fan fiction at the moment. ^.^**  
**Expect an update about a week from now.**  
**Feedback is much appreciated. And, **  
**Please do remember:**  
**Share it with a friend!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Burden

_Chapter: The Burden..._  
_**Four Years Later...**_

"And I will see you, in the next video!"  
Mark Fishbach closed his computer and smiled. Finally finished with recording, he pushed himself up from his desk. Slumping down into his bed, he felt an ear splitting grin brake out on his face as he flashed through Youtube comments. Many were spammers and Youtube trolls, but thousands were different.

Thousands were heartbreaking stories, compliments on his manliness and attractiveness, as well as hundreds who looked up to him. They saw him as an idol for hope and inspiration. This is who he did this for - the people who needed to laugh, who needed a light at the end of the tunnel. They just needed hope, and he tried everyday to give it to them somehow.

Sometimes he was distant and unruly but he cared about his subscribers, it was just the damn bloodlust that changed him - and he hated it. It wasn't who he was, and it never will be. He wanted to change. To be normal again, for maybe just one day. He wanted to live and breathe.

Tossing the thoughts away, he knew he was just setting himself up for depression, longing and hopelessness.

Instead, he commented on some videos as well as other social media sites, gleefully watching his fans explode in happiness as he responded.

He sat up to begin editing and searched the internet for decent pictures to use in his thumbnails. He worked silently in his chair, his energy beginning to deplete and his stomach crying in hunger. Every few moments or so he would hear the mumbled keening and sighed heavily.

Mark finally gave in. He opened the fridge door and stared for a few seconds, procrastinating, trying to find a way to make himself not have to do this deed. Mark inhaled deeply clearing his mind momentarily. He just couldn't ignore his stomach.

He ran a hand through his thick black hair creasing his brow in frustration.

"Dammit, I'm out." He took the ketchup bottle out of the fridge and held it up to the light maneuvering it into different positions to find a trace of anything left inside.

Shit.

Setting it down and then moving it aside, he reached for the one behind it. Empty as well.

This time he growled in frustration. His hand reached into the dead space of the fridge, his fingers brushing the last bottle. It fell over onto it's side with a hollow empty _click_.

Nothing.

Sighing, his mind tried desperately to deny what his body knew was the truth.

He would have to go hunting tonight.

Closing the fridge door, he entered his bedroom. The darkest reaches of his closet beckoned him, calling him to retrieve its hidden contents. Pushing back his dressier clothing, he revealed a plain black jacket. He then grabbed a small backpack from even farther in. Mark gave it a mournful look, scraping off a tiny bit of hardened blood.

He unzipped the big pocket and pulled out a small knife. Unsheathing it for just a second, he made sure it was clean then replaced it back inside carefully. Things like this jacket and this bag he kept separate from the rest of his belongings. He denied them any presence in his life.

He had been cursed, and he couldn't escape it. But he could keep that curse separate from the rest of his life.

That was, of course, _impossible_ to do on nights like this, where his stomach made it's low growl and his throat burned like a grease fire with his insatiable hunger.

He began to pack away the three ketchup bottles. An inaudibly sad noise escaped his lips as he slipped on his jacket and turned the knob to his door.

He had to do this.

For his fans.

When he left his Los Angeles apartment and was exposed into the fresh air, it gave his muscles new purpose and new determination. He would hunt ambitiously tonight.

For his fans.

Having to drive for some time to reach the woods, the only thing heard coming from around him was the sounds of the whipped air and the car engine's steady _whirr_.

When he finally reached the seclusion of the woods he usually hunted within, he turned off the car and sat in silence. His focus was on the small meticulous click the engine made as it cooled.

He was trying to mentally prepare himself for what he had to do next.

He hated his curse, and he hated his diet. However, it was better, knowing he could drink animals blood. It meant he could protect his fans from the one thing they adored most: himself.

He gave one last exasperated sigh as he opened the door to his car. He forced himself to put one leg out, then the other.

Everything was moving at an incredibly slow state of mind.

What was his problem? They were just animals, and he had done this so many times already. It wasn't close to the most unethical of things he's done.

He's killed before.

Mark shook his head. These hunts in the wood were for all the people he _didn't_ want to hurt.

"Come on Mark," he mumbled to himself. This is what he had to do.

Finally finished with the task of standing up, he grabbed his backpack and threw it on his shoulders. Holding the straps, he looked out into the woods giving the momentous trees his best stare before entering it's unforgiving reach.

When he first began hunting out here, it frightened him slightly. It felt like he had been playing horror games forever, but somehow had never gotten used to the woods.

That is, until it became a normal thing for him to be out during the night.

Any normal human wouldn't be able to see their nose in front of their face, but Mark's deep set brown eyes peered through the darkness, seeing the world as if it was lit by the brightest moon the sky could muster.

After having walked forwards, deeper into the trees and brush, Mark stopped and raised his nose to the air.

Leaves,

Dead and alive,

Rotting wood

Soaked in putrid water,

Pure water,

Fresh, running.

He could hear the gently moving stream well, it's gurgling tickling his eardrums playfully. He closed his eyes and focused on blocking it out, while then going back to the smells of the forest. He smelled more drying leaves, but this time a sort of rancid ick clung to them, causing the YouTuber to wrinkle his nose in momentary disgust.

Some animal had urinated here.

While most people would have cringed at the thought of the urine, Mark felt a small smile play at his lips modestly. The smell was strong, meaning it had been recent.

Mark fell into a crouch, moving silently despite the brush that was littered at his feet.

He focused his ears to hear far in front of him, until he picked up the small rustling of something a few meters ahead.

He took a deep breath inhaling through his nose, the smell of rabbit overriding his senses while flowing into his mouth.

He continued forward, his eyes never wandering from where the sound originated.

He had hunted rabbits before, but they could be tricky depending on the hour and how far from the burrow they were.

It was all over if they got to the shelter of their thoroughly constructed holes. If the chase went good, however, he could catch them before they escaped him safely unharmed.

Unfortunately, if he didn't catch this rabbit he would have to move more quietly to another section of the woods. He could be fast, but all stealth would be lost.

It was this rabbits submission or an extended hunt. He hoped for the latter.

Mark closed his eyes, still keeping a fix on the animal as he prepared his endurance for the chase. His eyes snapped open, glistening in the edges of the trees as his muscles coiled under his skin.

He moved suddenly, the world seeming to evolve around him while twisting inside itself trying forcefully to keep pace with his speed and determination.

He saw the rabbit now, as clear as day. It began to bolt in the opposing direction from him, taking on its own zigzag pattern. Mark dodged trees as he closed in on the small quarry.

Finally, with one last ounce of effort he pinned it down under his weight. Where it kicked harshly against his chest, clawing at any flesh it possibly could. He let out a disheartening growl, his fangs sliding from his gums as he quickly broke the animals neck with a high pitched squeal rolling throughout the silence of the forests reach.

He took one deep breath before letting the animal drop weightlessly at his feet.

It's body twisted and turned as it settled on the ground, being nowhere close to claimed by rigor mortis. Mark set to work, pulling his bag off his back and unzipping it.

He pulled out the three bottles and knife, and began to prepare each container to retrieve the blood. He flipped the animal over and made a small knick on its throat, in the center of the jugular.

The blood spilled over the edges of the sliced skin and glinted in the shadows through the creatures fur, while dripping in copiously thick amounts into the bottle, filling it fast.

He didn't spill any of the droplets, having done this almost routinely. As the first bottle filled he placed the animal down, its blood still draining out at a constant pace, and quickly switched bottles, filling that one as well. He then filled the final one.

Soon, all three were full and Mark's hunt abruptly ended for the night. He cleaned his knife on a rag he had equipped in his bag and wiped off the bottles before placing them inside. They radiated with heat, but he resisted the urge to drink from them now.

After all, he was a civilized hu-

Well, he was a civilized being. He would diligently wait to drink it in his home, in some mug he could find uselessly lying around.

As he completed the cleansing of his bloodied equipment and hands, the hairs at the nape of his neck stood and his spine shook in instinct. He turned and caught sight of a wolf standing not five feet away from him, growling unimaginably low in his throat with froth on his lips.

This is not the first time he had encountered a wolf, but never one this angered and in size.

Mark knew the creature had smelled the broken animals blood, and he also was aware of the fact that the wolf wouldn't let him pass unscathed. He wasn't getting out of here without a fight.

Heckles raised, the wolf launched itself forward unanticipatedly on Mark, knocking him to the ground with his weight. Having not been fully prepared, Mark pushed against the wolf with force trying to get him off and unstable. But the blood-crazed animal only dug its claws onto his chest and pushed back with untestable amounts of power, striking relentlessly at his neck trying to rip it forward. Mark was so weak from hunger before this encounter, but now he felt it.

He had to get away, and fear spiked throughout his stomach because he knew he had to kill this beast.

Instantly, deep crimson soaked through his eyes and a cool smile crossed his face. The wolf was thrown a crooked way slicing the air quickly and into a tree with a hard sickening thump. "This is mine." He growled viciously low to the now prey, who wined and took off barely able to walk. It ran far away from what was a much better outcome than it could ever be.

Mark's eyes returned to the normally soft brown as pain shot throughout his limbs and fatigue from hunger set in. He was bleeding slightly from small scratches over his chest - a wound that would close up quickly.

He shook his head clearing a haze that clung there.

The creature was gone. Good.

Mark began the long trek back to his car, all interest in stealth lost now that he had gotten what he came for.

When he finally arrived back at his apartment forty five minutes later, he felt completely famished. The hunt and fight with the wolf made his hunger pains turn into pure abdominal torment.

He put two of the cooling bottles into the fridge and poured a small amount from the third into a mug. He slowly lifted the glass, inch by inch, till the edge touched his bottom lip.

He would drink now, even though the blood didn't smell as good as it would later. For an unknown reason, though it made no sense to him, after the blood was refrigerated and then heated up it tasted much better. It filled him more than it did when he just brought it home. Mark would just wait if he wasn't so hungry, or if he hadn't had the scuffle with the crazed animal, but he had to drink it now or he'd pass out. He could feel himself slowly losing the battle between consciousness and a dark abyss.

He took a sip…

...And immediately spit it out, his eyes stained with the luminescent crimson, shadows casted over his brow.

Mark dumped the glass out harshly, causing the rabbit's blood to splash up on the sides of the sink, staining the white marble pink as it slid down the drain.

Mark could drink it, but _he _wouldn't be so degraded.

It was immoral and had no good qualities. It was, as one would call it, equivalent to junk food. It contained nothing essential to living healthy, and just sat in his stomach mildly hydrating him.

Mark moved to the fridge and pulled out the two freshly filled bottles and with a sickened frown, empting them down the sink - following the glass of blood from before. He then began the menial task of cleaning out the bottles. A smile covered his face as he set them out on the counter, each in a perfect line. He appreciated order above most things.

Licking his lips, Mark moved into his bedroom and took off the jacket and his shirt, replacing it with a much better, clean, red button down.

He pulled it tight over fresh jeans and entered the bathroom, fixing his floof of hair. He pulled a dry twig from it as he ran his fingers through it straightening it out. His eyes shone brightly in the mirror a deep shade of red as he licked his lips, allowing his fangs to descend slowly from his gums.

"Looks like tonight is date night."

_**Next Time…**_

_**I**__t was finally time. _

_**H**__e was just so hungry…_

_**A**_ _genuine smile replaced his fake one._

_**E**__very. Single. Time._

_**P**__athetic._

* * *

**Yo, guys, share this up wit yo homies.**

**Jk **

**we don't really talk like that,**

**But seriously, share.**

**If you like let us know and leave a review. Fav, Follow, all dat jazzzzz.**

**Flames will make cookies for the reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3: Date Night

Chapter 3: Date Night

Anytime Mark needed to resupply his stock of food he called it his date night.

And with his growing popularity on YouTube, as you can imagine finding a suitable date wouldn't be the biggest of challenges.  
He addressed himself one last time in the mirror. Since this gift was given to him his masculinity had increased by ten fold. He smiled at the thought. He grew his hair out, and he now had a shadowed dust of a beard. Naturally, Mark also grew more muscular after the change.

Finally satisfied with how he looked he flicked off the bathroom light and began preparing for other guests. Guests who weren't Bob and Wade.

After hiding a few things, and making others more prominent he was satisfied with how his apartment shone more brightly with humanized characteristics.

It was _finally_ time.  
He straightened his shirt over his jeans and exited his apartment. Closing and locking his door, he moved down the hall and out into the crisp night air.

Mark let his vibrantly crimson eyes look both to the left, then the right. Left or right. The smallest question could be so hard, that he had to admit. However, he had picked right last date night, so, left.  
His gums throbbed with need for the hunt. He was fully aware of the fangs in his mouth, and how they pulsated to the beat of his environment in unison.  
Striding confidently, he decided to lounge at a local night bar where all the smashed twenty something year olds liked to roam. Walking, thinking, while calmingly making his way to the entrance walking straight by the line where immediately a few girls, and a guy along the way called his name in the line that they recognized him. The bouncer, seeing that he was well known opened the doors for him nodding respectively. He stepped in and weaved through the crowd to the bar. Mark then began the process of waiting impatiently for someone to approach him. He was sure people saw him there already, but just didn't have the balls to come say hi.  
There was finally a bite when a guy in his twenties shouted very loudly and came over. When he spoke it was obvious that with how intoxicated he was that this was going to be his date tonight.

"Hey, I'm a big fan! Like, seriously. I can't believe I just found you..." The man started hastily crushing words together in a slur of a language, but quickly Mark set his features darker and more was a look of interest in what the man was saying, but, it was also the face he made for his prey when he really didn't care what they were explaining.  
The guy just kept rambling on about trust issues and depression. Mark tried to keep a reassuring smile on his face throughout the entirety of this conversation, but after a while the loud thumping music and bright lights distracted him. Why do fans always send him their sob stories? Sure, Mark says that their all important - but honestly how gullible are they? Finally, he decided to order a drink for himself, while asking the man his name and other casual aspects of a conversation.

Mark then noticed a throbbing vein on his neck and was enticed to speed this process up dramatically. He was just so hungry...he was getting impatient listening to this man's voice, with its constant warbles, jagged edges, and excited manner. Even when talking about suicide he decided to pull the line that got them to join him every time.

"So... I assume you would love to come play some games with me?"

Jumping with glee he agreed instantaneously and smiled widely.

Every. Single. Time.

"Oh my god! My girlfriend is a huge fan do you mind if she comes along?" he said as hope bloomed in his voice. The man stared at him, expectantly, and waited.

Mark was taken aback for a split second. Why do they always make this difficult? He was about to speak when he saw him motion over the girl, who bounced up energetically drunk and giggling. She was small, and obviously about to pass out.

A genuine smile replaced his fake one. This might turn out just fine, two in one night. "Of course! The more the merrier!" He said happily while he got up from where he sat at the bar, leading them out. They began to chatter happily behind him as they walked down the street in the direction of his apartment.

"Your friend has really pretty eyes!" The girl said to the guy, still unable to walk completely straight.

Mark looked back and smiled, his red irises almost glowing in the glare of the street lights. Of course, as humans, they couldn't see the luster of his eyes. He had learned this in the very beginning, when he began to experiment with what power he had. He didn't say much for the entire walk. After all he was their executioner leading them away to a private guillotine suspended high above a lake of sanguine desires.

His smile stayed strong as they entered his home, practically squealing. His ears had stood the pressure before, and he was sure they could now. Even if it felt horrible on his eardrums.

Locking the door behind his back, he took them on a small tour knowing they would ask. They always, always did.

Mark pointed to the different rooms quickly, not dwelling on any of them for too long.

As he opened the door to his bedroom for them to look in at his recording area the woman stumbled into the room and fell face first on the floor almost .

"Seriously?" Her boyfriend asked, laughing against the wall.

"Sorry man, she is tr-a-shhed." The man giggled.

He took this opportunity to strike silently, unbenounced to his fan. Gently offering for her to lie down she softly nodded into his plush carpet barely hearing the muffled voices around her, her consciousness ebbing away at her slowly. He picked up her limp body and placed it on his bed gingerly.

He then smiled to the man leading him away from the unconscious woman and locked the door.

The man apologized over and over for her but Mark just kindly smiled and lead him away, a hand on the small of his back.

They headed downstairs where his screams wouldn't wake her. Soon they were alone, and Mark's pretentious prey turned around.

"So... uh, what are we doing here, I don't..."

The man let out a stunned howl as he was shoved into a wall. He allowed the man to see his eyes for their full, deep red beauty. When he chose, he could reveal them, delighted to see the new reactions he'd get.

"You know I used to not take fans... but now that I'm so popular it's hard, you know? And you guys come to my house so willingly... I mean, seriously? You're all senseless. One little word from Markimoo and you guys come running. Pathetic."

By now the man was hypnotized in fear and just stood shaking mindlessly in Marks grip. He tilted the man's head up casually, and found the perfect place to bite down.

His mind wandered, like it does when he feeds, to the man in the ally who had inadvertently given Mark this gift by not using all his powers to their full potential. If the moron had held him with his gaze, as Mark was doing now, he could've taken the time to actually hit his jugular without dealing with much of a struggle.

However, Mark was happy his sire was a bumbling idiot.

He flashed his lengthened incisors at the man with a half smile, and could feel the man's pulse skyrocket immediately with sight of them - regardless of fear.

It was all just a natural reaction. He was at sensory overload, and he wouldn't process what was happening until it was already all over and too late.

Stabbing pulses of pure ecstasy flowed willingly down Mark's throat as he sank his teeth in. The smell of sweet sugar and much sweeter honey encased the air in Mark's nostrils, but to the now slowly fading man all he could smell, and feel, was thick groggy copper.

The vampire moaned under the pleasure, the taste, and just the general action of feeding. How he missed this from date night to date night. This is what you couldn't get from animals. They tasted horrid, and couldn't hold a conversation.

Deep inside he wished he could hunt every night. He loved this feeling when he was awash in instincts, and when the world faded away and only blood remained. Blood, ecstasy, and the hunt.

The man began to fall to his knees, and Mark followed him down. He couldn't keep the man alive, so he might as well get every drop the dead man could offer him.

The man slipped away into the arms of unforgiving death, his face pale and achromatic.

Marks face of bliss then twisted into one that anyone would call unnatural, his fangs bared, his eyes shining luminously.

He _was_ a monster, and he didn't care. He had embraced it gracefully.

Suddenly, he heard a slight shuffle from upstairs and realized that in the feast he had completely forgot he had another. He strode up the stairs moving so fast his legs seemingly blurred.

Mark opened the door just as the small woman's hand reached for the handle to open it directly from the opposite side.

He smiled almost satanically sauntering over to her, and with every step forward he took she stepped back with confusion interwoven inside her expression.

Now half sober, she looked up at him with pleading eyes and shaking hands. Putting up a small defense to stop him from getting any closer.

"Oh, God. Those eyes are.." . A small chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat, as he looked down at her pathetic motions of vulnerability.

His throat and lips we're now dripping with maroon lit droplets.

"Blood..." She whispered in complete and utter shock.

With a half smile, Mark took a finger up to his chin and wiped away the blood, smearing it slightly.

"How rude of me to not clean up, but I just couldn't wait for dessert after that beautiful meal downstairs." He spoke low, his voice sultry and somber.

His deep voice echoed through her ears, and she couldn't look away.

It was so easy nowadays to put them under like dogs.

A soft '_Che'_ escaped past his lips, he instantly reached out to grab her arm, his hands massive and threatening.

To his immediate shock, as he moved closer to her she instantaneously dashed back and then uppercutted him hard enough to surprise and hurt him.

He put a hand to his face, feeling the spot on his chin where she hit him that was throbbing with needles of pain.

"Bitch!" He cried menacingly, recovering from the chaos that was her breaking from his spell.

She ran to the window, fumbling with the lock trying to get it open and Mark, as if high on rage, took another three steps towards her and latched onto her arm.

She growled, allowing her foot to wrap around his leg and pull it out from under him. He was dazed suddenly, his head hitting the back post of his bed as he fell backwards.

Her wrath now known, she placed another hit to his face, hearing a resounding pop as she broke his nose. Confused at how she even got the upperhand on him, he looked up at her, now half out the window.

Her green eyes met his red and a hint of a smile crossed her features as she jumped from the window.  
"Shit!" He growled low under his voice running to the window, stumbling for just a second. She was almost down the block, and gave a backward glance as her smile now faded along with her.

But, that's not what got him.

It was a five story drop to the unconditioned grass below.

He slammed his hands in anger on the frame of the window. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He never had someone get away, or leave, or live for that matter. He shut the window and wiped his mouth in anger. How? How could this ever happen?

Hatred and rage coiled around in him suffocating him. He had to find her again, somehow...

* * *

_**Next time...**_

_**S**__he was something exotic._

_**H**__ad he finally after all these years find another person like himself?_

_**H**__e wanted to find that girl._

_**H**__e was infected now..._

_**M**__istakes, mistakes._


	4. Chapter 4: Inquisition

_Chapter 4: Inquisition_

Mark paced meticulously throughout his living room, the crimson laced inside his irises blazed, a curling unending vortex of hate. They radiated passionately with glimpses of anger, denial, and contemptment. His nose had just finished healing, yet he could still feel a resounding ache when he flared his nostrils. The question faced him like a mirror reflecting a person's soul.

How the hell had some girl escaped him? He had never met a human who had been able to withstand his power.

He probably still hasn't. She had to have been something that was supernatural, like himself.

Vampire?

Demon?

Had he finally after all these years find another person like himself? She was strong and fast, even faster than him. She had also been darkly mysterious, keeping a hint of surprise throughout anything she did. One moment blankly dismayed and intimidated, and within the next gaining the upperhand.

He could barely remember what she looked like other then the orange locks that framed her delicately. Her beauty seemed unnatural itself, and the image stuck in his head, snapshotted instantly. It was layered beautiful orange with hinted pieces of red and lighter orange hues.

Fatigue racked his body and his vision blurred. He needed to sleep. But he also needed to plan, and plan big. He sat down on his bed and closed his eyes, focusing. When he opened them again they were a soft shade of brown.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. He felt good, nourishment wise, so he knew the animal blood had sated his needs. Nonetheless, he felt tired beyond normalicy as his eyes grew heavy with drowsiness.

The YouTuber began to prepare for bed, an established routine he had become accompanied to thoroughly so many times before. Change clothing, brush hair, brush teeth; use the toilet, and finally settle in for bed. Slouching over his bed he racked his mind for consciousness as he reached for the comforter falling asleep instantaneously when hitting the pillow in exhaustion.

Mark hadn't dreamt in four years. Ever since his curse took its toll there was nothing that moved images in his mind so distinctively. But despite his logical conclusions of his own mindset he did dream now, and it was foreign to him.  
There she stood, in a world of white. Her hips moved from side to side as her arms slowly rose at her sides. Orange fire lapped at her skin and shimmered past her shoulders.

She was something exotic. She was something new and profoundly exquisite.

The world faded red as he lusted for her. One step, then another. His fangs lengthened. He would have her now.

His hand reached out, but he gripped nothing.

He was staring at his wall.

It was then he realized that it was nothing more than a false mirage his mind had created for itself to sate some unidentified need he had to have her. He ran a hand through his untamed hair in desperation. He leaned back on his bed, and stared at the pale tiles of the ceiling. A dream. The fact that he dreamed made him almost nauseated. It was something he'd not been expecting to happen. Mark pushed it away and closed his eyes, once again allowing himself sleep. He would think it over in the morning.

Hours past with nothing but a black abyss captivating his mind, and the shrill scream of his alarm woke him from rugged sleep. The dream came to mind immediately.

He turned to stare at the ceiling, his mind a blur of emotion.

Questions raced impatiently throughout his brain and shoved themselves into his thoughts continuously. Mark's head was exhausted with hypothesis' of what the woman could have meant, or what the dream meant. He stood and unwelcomely acknowledged the cool air that surrounded him as he groggily approached the bathroom. Mark headed towards the shower to clear his burdened mind and lose the unanswered baggage of questions.

He questioned reality for seconds at a time as he stood in silence letting the flow of water block out his eardrums natural ability. Mark encased himself in a made up world of nothing as he stared at the shower walls, watching the never ending cascade of water-works that were miraculous when healing temporarily.

Agitated but content that his mind was emptied of the dream, he exited the shower and got ready for the day.

He didn't necessarily feel like playing horror games, ones that were new to him.  
Only because he would be distracted momentarily, and his life had felt like a horror game recently, more so than usual, with the peculiar dreams relentlessly harassing his mind. He sat down behind his machine and reached for the button to turn it on. He had to record today, or he wouldn't have enough videos left in his cue before he was caught up and had something prerecorded.

He spent hours absorbed in games, both horror and comedic. The fans would expect horror games as well, regardless of Mark's mental state. He soon had seemingly forgotten all his troubles and worries. This is exactly what Mark loved about gaming and his career - he could forget his life, and his curse, again and again.

He could become a surgeon, or a warrior.

He could be a scientist, or a prisoner.

He could be things that weren't a _vampire_.

Hours later, he was satisfied with what he had accomplished and stretched appreciatively. Raising his arms to the ceiling he shook himself from the nervousness that clung to his being. Rising from his desk, he remembered the dream. And within the few seconds of relay it took, every single insufferable detail to come crashing back to him erupting in his mind._ Her_.

Mark was frozen in place, his eyes staring at the wall glazed over with a blank stare of resentment. They began to turn different hues of matte crimson which colored them fully, cutting out the brown like it had endured the struggle of staying hostage within.

Nothing could explain her, but he decided on what to do next about her. He had to find her, and when he did he would find out exactly what she was. After that, she would be his dessert. He went to his fridge. He couldn't find something like her on an empty, or emptying stomach. The door swung open, but he only found inedible food clustering the shelves.

Searching frantically, he swore having forgotten that he needed more blood to store, with all the commotion and excitement of last night his mind was boggled and lost.

He also had a body to take care of.

"Dammit." He growled as he grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked downstairs and over to the slumped corpse. He gave it a half hearted kick, nibbling his bottom lip.

He opened a linen closet he had in one of his bottom rooms and began to wrap up last nights meal. He would toss it in the river where he always did when he went out to fill his bottles for storing.

His mind was so distracted though. Anxiousness, like a snake coiled in its legs. He wanted to get out now.

He wanted to run, to do anything but sit here and mull over her.

He wanted to find that girl.

No one had ever escaped him before.

No one but her.

The fact that she had was consuming his being like a disease infecting its host, leisurely eating away at him. Taking its time.

He was infected now.

Hastily, he finished picking up the body and then went back upstairs. He turned to his extra notebooks and began writing down some ideas on how to find her. But restlessly after a few moments he gave up and turned back to his computer, wanting nothing more than a solution. He sat there for minutes, just staring at his blank computer screen. He was bored. But anxious. He needed to find her desperately.

He needed an antidote to free his mind and get her back in his grip. He wanted to go out and snatch up a snack, too, but his appetite for fans was long gone and lost.

Regardless, he would've have to feed soon,

While he had sort of glutted himself on the male fan, that didn't mean anything to his daily feeding schedule. It was almost as if he sat down at a big thanksgiving dinner. While stuffing himself, he still had to eat the next day.

He had been planning to hook the girl up to fill his reserves.

While he did prefer the freshest of blood he had decided on storing it. It helped keep up the facade. However, no matter how good, he would never drink a week old. That was for those pansies who didn't embrace who they were.

At least he figured.

He had never met another vampire before, so he wouldn't know.

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, keeping a constant _thump thump thump_ _thump_ at a decent pace.

He had been sloppy, and that fact haunted him. He was supposed to be a professional by now. Years he had dedicated to perfecting his skills and attributes, and he felt cheated.

He should have hooked the guy up and drained him slowly before gutting himself on the second victim. She had just been knocked out so easily.

Mistakes, relentless mistakes.

He needed to go for a walk - maybe he could just pick someone up in an alley to feed and refill them. If he was going to find this girl he needed to be at his top capacity in energy, and then some...

* * *

She had dashed until her lungs gave out and she collapsed into her apartment halfway across town. Hunched over in her living room with her hands on her knees she breathed deeply thinking through the contents of the night

Her mind was an abandoned wreckage of unanswerable questions, and few formed into coherent thoughts she could process easily. Only bursts of solid thoughts flew throughout the folds of her memory. What the hell was that?

"Why haven't you learned Charlotte, every time you drink something like this happens." Her subconsciousness shook scowling her head menacingly as she softly spoke to herself. She thought about him… and that thing. Though she had lied to her boyfriend about knowing who he was, she did recognize the sound of the name. What was it? Multiply? Or Marker? She wanted to say it didn't matter, but it did. Unfortunately, she needed sleep and a shower to cleanse her of the psycho's blood that had hit her from his spewing nose.

She entered her bathroom. While her clothes, when removed, revealed many scars that may have seemed self inflicted, she knew better. They were branded into her skin when she was young. Those years had been difficult, but it was ages and ages ago.

She showered quickly and climbed under her covers. But... everytime she closed her eyes she saw that dark smile, the blood. She had left her boyfriend there... who knew if he was alive? Greg was the first person in a long time who she might have liked a little more than usual by now... who knows. She had left him.

The next day, tapping her pencil on her lip in thought Charlotte contemplated about trying to find someone new so she did.

It was definitely Mark something.

Markimoo?

No.

Greg had said that once, but seriously... who would call themselves that?

She opened her old worn laptop and waited for it to boot. While she waited for what could have been considered a dinosaur to turn on, she pulled an old piece of scrap paper over in front of her and wrote down the word Mark.

That was a definite.

This guy was popular for something. Greg said something about games, so she wrote that down too.

Then it hit her. It was like a brick wall rushing forward to knock her unconscious.

Why was she researching the guy that tried to kidnap her? She should be going to the police to get that guy off the streets. Who knows how many people he has killed!

In the midst of her revelation, her laptop dinged to life and she hovered over the keys to type in her password. It seemed like she might as well go on with the research just because it took her computer so long to log on.

What would she do if she did find him? What would she tell the police? All she could say was 'Hey this guy picked us up, took us back to his apartment, even though I was drinking and then got knocked out. He came in with blood on his face, which made me proceed to escape from this guy who was insanely well built and looked like a supermodel. By the way I escaped by jumping out of a five story window.'

She shook her head.

She should just move and get out of this town.

Never go to that bar again.

Never even go out again.

What were the chances he was looking for her? I mean there must be easier prey.

But... she had seen too much. He would try to find her since killers like him always did. They never gave up, and never let a strand of loose hair out of their grasp.

She sighed, then opened Chrome to do some research.

In Google, her fingers hesitantly moved over the keys, taking unnecessary care to type in the only two words that she had for a lead. When it was finally imputed into the search engine, she sat and watched the tiny cursor blink on and off. Finally, she clicked the button and Google searched the web for 'Mark Gaming.'

It was the only lead she had, and she hoped it worked. Her lip was almost bloody from all the tension it was under.

Her eyes widened at the first link that popped up. "18:10 Markiplier... My Name is... Mark | AWESOME FAN GAME!" Markiplier... That was it. When she heard it she wanted to facepalm. It was so obvious and she felt stupid for forgetting the name of her friends Idol.

So... this guy was famous, somehow. A YouTuber. Charlotte had never been big into gaming, so the idea of a video of someone playing a game was foreign to her, besides what Greg had explained so briefly.

She clicked the link.

"Hello everybody my name is Markiplier, and welcome too..." she zoned out. This video had millions of views! The channel had millions of subscribers-it was a success! This guy...the guy who had locked her in his room, had fans making games for him! He seemed perfectly normal. He was a person to them, almost a god. She paused the video.

He seemed to be the master of Façade.

Overtime, hours after hours passed_ of_ researching and watching this internet icon. Charlotte leaned back in her chair and sighed loudly. She sat for minutes upon minutes staring blankly at the laptop screen.

Her mind was spinning wildly. It went left and right, taking her thoughts from milk to whipped cream instantaneously.

How could they look up to him?

That was the last clear thought she could process. It was hard for her, sure - but only because he had seen his true self before seeing these videos of him playing horror games. He was honestly kind of vulgar.

Irritatingly, she found that she did think some of his videos were funny.

However, he was a fake.

All those videos of him being sad, he claims he really understands what the characters are going through in the games. All the videos where he is appreciative for his fans; it was all a lie. A deception.

He used his fans.

He made them think they were special which led them away to their death. He led them away while being cynical/mean. He was the farmer, feeding his pigs table scraps to fatten them up.

Shaking her head she rose stretching her arms toward the ceiling.

Walking towards the kitchen, she opened the fridge and saw a Budweiser six pack half gone and just sitting there.

Immediately, tears sprung into her eyes and she slowly sank into the floor crumbling unto herself. The sight of her now gone boyfriends favorite beer stabbed her straight at the heart, and she finally allowed herself to sob miserably in her own harms.

All she wanted was him back home since that fucking thing took him from her, the feelings she felt for him were literally scattered recklessly.

She hadn't been dating Greg that long, and she hadn't necessarily been in love with him yet. She was feeling attached, and they had been close friends for months now.

He would miss him; but she would also avenge him. She would get this Markiplier. She would have his head for taking Greg from her.

The man must have a flaw somewhere and somehow. She would find it, and exploit it.

Sure, he was handsome beyond normal levels, seemingly caring, kind, loving, and strong; emotionally and physically. But there was something behind that warm smile which also provided words of encouragement 'you can do it.'

People may have been fooled, but she could never see him as anything more than a monster. She saw what he was originally like before all others.

It is a law of the world, that someone is aware of a spell, they cannot be fooled by it again.

Deep, burning hatred for him curled in the pit of her stomach. What a vile creature, to do things like this to. To lie. To kill. To ruin someone's life. Who deserved such things?

Not her. She had her time of roughness. She deserved a life with just her and Greg, without monsters like Mark. And if she didn't there was someone's life in the future that he was destined to ruin it if she didn't stop him. She would end this plague, and do it before he got killed again.

* * *

The sound of the clock drilled holes through newly sensitive ears. To any other, the small ticking of the hands would be an indifferent white noise. And still, prolonged exposure to the continuous tick rose a paced alarm throughout the man's blood. This fast paced beat rattled his insides and veins. This alarm acknowledged when danger was near, or perhaps, when only the fear hit him that aimed straight at his heart.

"Do you understand?" A man sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other. Formality was his expertise, and power was his strong hold. He wore a white collar shirt with a tiled sunset blue tie, and black jeans. His unusual demeanor and style was his inner spoiled child dancing around and frolicking in the warm glow of his title. A badge pinned into his front pocket announced him as the corporate officer, and CEO.

"Ervine…Are you sure you're ready?" His voice was calm and collected, yet his words hung within the silence. He was questioning everything the nurses had reported to him over the last two months, this man-child, was not ready to be released into society. He was meant to be kept here with the others and safely away from the normal, healthy people. He couldn't even make straight eye contact.

"It's perfectly alright, I know you just want to go back to your room. The nurses, they gave me the wrong files, I'll presume." He smiled politely only to assume natural professionalism in this unwanted situation. "I'll get you a nurse. Again I'm deeply sorry for the inconvenience." All while spitting this apology out, this, he kept on smiling.

"I understand."

The man at the desk let the phone hang loosely in his grip. He was both awestruck and dumbfounded. This man had never spoke to him, and only acknowledged him with slight glances and grunts from time to time. He shuffled as the phone was answered by a woman on the other end.

"Nothing, n-never mind." He hung the phone up and sat back down cooly.

"I understand." He again spoke up, his voice rang in the silence of the office. It was incredibly deep and controlling, intoxicating even, he lifted his head to make eye contact with the man. "I _am_ ready."

_Next Time…_

_**S**__he swore.  
__**H**__e smiled._

* * *

**I, InnerBeast, want to apologize for how super duper late this chapter is. I went out of town, and Ch3sh1r3_Sm1l1ng was busy as well. We also worked extra hard to make sure this chapter was up to par and actually decent. Also, see how its really long? Your welcome. **

**But, anyway, its really all our faults and we would like to make it up to you somehow. **

**Sadly, it'll be a few weeks before chapter five is up because that chapter is long as well, and falls into the category of "It sounded good when we were writing it but now that were reading it... *Gross sobbing and swearing***

**Needless to say, it needs maaaad work. Anyway, please Review, and Share it with a friend. Seriously. Id like to think that this story is just not being seen and that's why it has only a few fav/follows instead of it actually being complete crap. ^.^ I sound desperate now, don't I? Anyway, Toodles!**


	5. Chapter 5: No Masks At This Masqurade

Chapter 5: _**No Masks At This Masquerade**_

Keys clattered outside of Mark's apartment as he unlocked the front door. Stepping inside, he stretched in the pure power and fulfillment that resided in his being. His smile was a deep crimson, and he could feel the deep crimson ribbons swirl down his chin and neck, running over his collarbone and staining his shirt. Mark had successfully gotten rid of the body from his meal last night and had also filled the ketchup bottles to the brim in lukewarm dark misty liquid for storing.

He hadn't gotten anyone special, of course just a person from the streets. They were not a fan, and they certainly were not anyone weren't exquisite like her. They died like sheep. She had gotten away.

He slid one finger, then two up one of the ribbons of blood sliding down his face.

Placing them on his tongue delicately, and sighed to the taste.

He had to admit he did enjoy the hunt, regardless of the fact he was not hunting who he wanted to hunt. It was an intoxicating experience. Stepping away from the door, he walked into the bathroom and splashed his face with warm water stopping to smile at his reflection, with the now half washed blood still lingering his teeth were pink and splotched in all shades of red.

The shrill high pitched voice of his cell phone rang taking him away from his reflection. He always took a second glance. And that second glance, which revealed the haunting beauty that intoxicated so many, made him pity those in the world who were cattle. They were so idiotic. Pathetic.

Slightly angered at being interrupted, he barked "What?" into the phone without looking at who it was. "Jeez, what's up with you? Well we all just wanted to let you know that Wade and I are free to play some prop hunt. The ladies are out of the house. You got beer right? We could do a drunk episode. The fans would like it."

It was his long time friend of Mark's : Bob. "Oh, yeah, sorry." He replied quickly clearing his throat, "Sounds like a good idea." He hung up without saying goodbye and ran an agitated hand through his hair. They didn't even give him warning. Talking and hanging around with his friends brought back painful memories, which made him almost want to be human again.

"Almost." The word escaped from his lips, his eyes flickering brown, specks of choclate delicately sprinkled over a cake of crimson.

Mark put a hand on his forehead, and swallowed a tiny bit of bile from his throat.

He wasn't ready yet. He still needed to clean up.

Mark managed one more devious look in the mirror before he stripped and entered the shower, the searing hot water staining his skin a hot pink. The heat didn't faze him at all, and he kept his mind off of his unexpected time with his friends.

He would not forget her, though. He would not. She was his top priority.

He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. After a few minutes he was fully dressed in jeans and his Markiplier tee-shirt. Time to play some prop hunt. Ugh.

The luminescent glow of green flashed continuously across the ceiling, floor, and bed.

Three thirty six in the morning.

The alarm kept count of the time as it ticked away from him, each second a piece of sand escaping him. Lying in bed, Mark stared at the ceiling. He was planning. It was the only thing he could do, when sleeping meant giving up.

Suddenly, a thud hollow and pure rang out in his room. He shot up from his bed, his luminescent eyes glowing - two orbs in the darkness. He hadn't heard what made the noise, but he was watching now. Almost instantly a bird flew into the window, with such a force that it cracked. It left nothing but a trail of smeared red leading towards the ground. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it had broke through the glass, its head the vertex of a spider web of cracks branching out on the whole window.

There was no clear explanation for the small robin, where it came from, But what was clear was that the bird had not penetrated the glass itself by flying into it, but rather someone had thrown it. Hard.

Mark began to understand now that this was a challenge. He slid the dark curtains apart and cast his knowing eyes down on the street. His lips twisted slightly, then completely upturned into a cocky smile. With glee, and an unending happy feeling in his stomach he slid his hoodie and shoes on. He couldn't believe it. His luck was astounding.

She had come to him.

It was obvious she had a lot of guts. That he had to give to her. The YouTuber breathed deeply as he left his apartment and sprinted as fast as he could down the street, opening his nose and attempting to smell her sweet aroma. His eyes were peeled for red.

He would find her.

Finally, after a second of despair, he caught a gale of wind that carried a different smell. The smell of her. Lavender and adrenalin.

He had a steel expression of determination on his face as he turned left to quickly attempt to see the path.

He saw the orange glow of hair, and quick pacing of her feet. He saw the entity that had haunted him relentlessly. She was even faster than him. He realized this suddenly. He wondered exactly what kind of vampire she was. It didn't matter, however. He would have her reguardless.

She slowed down, as if taunting him. He was making an advance on her, and at one point, he was almost close enough to touch her at. To taste her. However, as soon as he was close enough to have her, she exhibited a flurry of speed and advanced forward, jumping on a wall and climbing it effortlessly.

"Touché..."

The word escaped his lips with no prompting and it felt just right.

His smiled filled with the sensation and thrill of the hunt. This would be the greatest kill of his life time. It was something he deserved.

And with that closing thought, he jumped twice as high and climbed higher and higher. Her scent drowned him with pleasure. He could smell her adrenalin, and he saw her smile. She was enjoying this as much as him, even if the small spike of fear was present as well. Knowing that, well, it made him thirst for her even more.

An animalistic growl escaped him as he ran rooftops after her. "Why did you come if you were just going to run?" He inquired almost light heartedly from behind her.

She jumped another rooftop. If there was an answer there, he hadn't heard it.

"Not that I mind. The chase is just about the best part of the hunt." He said, closing in on her slightly. She looked back and smiled demonically. Still no word came from her pink, rose petal lips.

Jumping one more building higher, they were at the tops of the highest buildings around, eight maybe ten stories tall.

She sped up even more and stopped for a mere second at the edge of the building to turn around and stare directly at him now only about a hundred feet in front of her.

"I'm not running...I'm leading." She growled low in her throat, like low thunder on the horizon of a new day. She then fell back with her arms outstretched, her eyes seeming completely filled with contentment as she began to glide downward.

He ran to the edge, a growl ready break forth in the back of his throat. She wanted to test him? Fine. he could show her how to ace any test.

Mark looked down at his hands where his nails lay thick and deceivingly sharp.

He left the building, falling through the air like he had practiced such a maneuver a thousand times.

Suddenly, he angled his body and let his hands graze the walls. His nails, harder than the bricks, sliced through them like butter, slowing his descent and saving him from a painful fall. He slowed down and eventually hung on the wall judging how much farther down he had to fall before allowing himself to descend once again.

She would not best him.

When Charlotte took the fall, she did so gracefully, gaining speed and taking just a moment to look back and see the destruction the he caused on the wall. He must have claws think and surly, ones that could bring down even the thick hide of a rhino.

She spotted it then, the forest.

The sanctuary.

She flung her arms out and grabbed a branch of one of the trees on the very outside of the forest. She swung from it with skill and landed on the floor of the forest, taking no time before speeding away once again in a run.

Dashing forward deeper into the forest, her plan was almost completely in motion. If he followed her into the forest there was no chance he was going to take her down, this was her home. The woods bled in her veins

Mark paused for a second outside of the looming forest.

Into the woods? Fine.

They could go where she wanted. After all, she had come to him.

He would use the dark, he would enjoy the run, and the fight. He would finally drink her blood. He would see her in his arms yet.

Dashing past trees, dodging bushes and smacking plants she threw things behind her to hinder and distract him.

Mark wasn't fazed, however, and kept on going. If she thought she could throw him off her trail with branches she was foolish and naive.

She decided to slow her pace enough to persuade him that she had lost her breath. She wanted him to think he had the advantage, when he really didn't.

This was her game, and her playing field.

The trail she had left him to follow had them both jumping over dead trees and finally taking a turn. Charlotte was leading them up the side of a hill laced with thick brush and trees.

The rocks fell continuously below on him as she ran, purposefully knocking them down to her.

"What's wrong little lady? Running outta' breath? You are sure trying hard to get rid of me, which is especially weird for someone who came and got _me_. " He let out a loud bellowing laugh as she jumped forward with a burst of speed, having hit the top of the hill.

As Mark hit the top he hesitated slightly, seeing a huge river and rocketing sprays of water colliding to meet to the largest waterfall he had ever seen.

They were miles from LA by now, and this beauty of nature hid in the depths of the trees. It was amazing it wasn't a tourist attraction already. It was hidden, as if waiting for this one day, for this one confrontation.

She plunged under the water then appearing at the entrance of the waterfall climbing the rocks again dashing through without looking twice.

He stopped for a second before diving into the water and following after her.

They entered the monstrous cave in which he could see perfectly. The yawn that escaped his lips seemed inevitable.

He felt another taunt was necessary. "You know whatever you're thinking it will not work. I know all the tricks. Whatever you are, different as you are I know vampiric powers inside and out. I will do whatever it takes to finally have you."

She disappeared ahead of him, making no comment to his latest taunt. He followed deeper into the chasm stealthy and haunched over as he walked, ready to spring.

"You know, I don't know what exactly you are, but I'm guessing a vampire. I know I'm going to slaughter you. Slowly," Her voice echoed and repeated itself softly. Her deep voice was husky, which lured him deeper into the cavern.

With each word she said the more aggressive and deep her voice got. It was going the way of darkness.

He progressed, not fazed by the new angles her voice was taking. He could deal with whatever she was.

His being trembled with anticipation, and his eyes glowed more vibrant.

It wouldn't be long now…

Wouldn't…

Be…

Long...

He progressed and was stopped cold as he saw her figure slowly walk in front of him.

She was at quite a distance, but his eyesight didn't fail him. She was different.

Yes she had fangs, canines that stretched outward along with every other tooth. But she wasn't a vampire. She had a thick long tail blotched with hues of orange and tipped with white ice that flashed from side to side vigorously.

Her eyes were a green so natural she could hide in a tree and not be seen, and her hands ended with claws that were almost as jagged as her teeth, but longer.

She paced around in front of him, with both of them wearing the same expression as they tried to figure each other out. It was stitched with anger, curiosity, and something else. Something odd to both of them.

"So... what are you? I've been literally _dying_ to ask." He said, his voice low and laced with curiosity.

"Well you see, I don't know the real name of my species, as I one of the last left after a great war, but I am what you may call an Animorph. Or, you can call me Charlotte. Since you never inquired _who _I am. Also," She hissed, pausing. "I am the last person you wanted to mess with."

"And you are?" She had a good idea, what with the eyes and the fangs - but she wanted to hear it from his wretched mouth.

"Vampire." He said, the word falling off his lips like honey.

She could hear the love he had for the word. The love he had for the creature he was. It sickened her.

That was how deep crimson stared through matte green eyes. They stood facing, waiting for one or the other to move and react first.

Calmly, Mark stepped forward, peering down at her. His smile was white, and devious. His fangs shone in the moonlight cast on the water which morphed his face under a dark filter, ever moving, ever changing.  
The tension in the air was coiled and rusted. It was like a snake, curled around them both, tightening, its muscles choking them.  
Then they sprang.  
They both went for each others necks, each with their punches rigged. She with claws that were extended, and one with nails that were elongated. Neither hit their mark, however, as they both dodged the others attacks. He threw another punch, and she caught his fist in her hand. Although, even as she pushed back against the strength she was exhibiting, she couldn't stop his fist from moving towards her face. It inched closer, and every second, every millimeter, her enemy's face grew more and more gleeful.

She wasn't stronger than Mark, but she was slightly faster and her thin stature gave her some leverage. She ducked under him suddenly and grinned as he stumbled forward. She landed a swift kick on his back, causing him to fall on his knees. She rushed forward then and tried to land another kick, this time to his face.  
However, when her foot arched through the air, prepared to meet flesh, she was the one stumbling when Mark was gone.

Suddenly, he busted forward with punches slicing through the air.

One landed, causing a small cut to form on her cheek.  
His nostrils flared, smelling the sweet liquid coming from her. it slid down her cheek, dancing to a tune only he could hear.

She could see his lust for her.

She could see that he was crazy, most of all she could see that he would stop at nothing to have her. He threw another punch, but this one missed by an inch. She ducked under a third punch and caught the fourth. This time she didn't let a struggle happen. She threw his hand away and tried to claw at his face, but missing by mere inches.  
She swore.  
He smiled.  
He kicked her in the side then, and she heard something break, something that could have perhaps been a rib. His smile stayed wide, his teeth bared as he walked forward slowly standing over her. His head was cocked slightly to the side, and his hair hung over his forehead. She lay sprawled under him, a fallen warrior, in pain.

"Such a pity." He said, his bottom lip popping out in a pout. He kneeled down in a fluid motion and put her head in a headlock. He sat on his knees, using all his strength to cut off her air supply.

She clawed helplessly at his arms, but he wouldn't let go, regardless of the cuts she did manage to land. Her vision faded in and out she struggled to breathe and kick.

He held her tightly and waited for her to drop like a light bulb. He waited for her to shatter. And seconds before she seeped into unconsciousness she heard him whisper. His deep voice echoing in her unsuspecting eardrum was the last thing she heard before she lost the battle she was sure she could win. His words haunted her in the fitful dreams that followed.

"My sweet dessert, you have no idea what I have in store for you..."

Her world went black, and Mark grinned from ear to ear. She was bleeding slightly from her cheek.

He couldn't wait to finally have this prize. How stupid she had been by coming for him.

Regardless of what she was, he was something better: a winner. He lifted her head up, even though it rolled to the side. He licked the wound on her face, tasting her blood.

It was like iridescent lavender, like strawberry and rain. It was heaven. It ignited a fire in his being that screamed for more. It was a drug as it soared through him.

He wanted to drink her now, but he would wait. He had too.

Something like this, like her, needed to be savored.

It was time he finally put that basement to good use once again.

Stealthy hiding in the shadows and hugging the buildings, he carried her over his shoulder through the city making it to his apartment in record time walking.

Luckily, no one was outside as he paced through his apartment door and locked it hastily behind him.

Walking with precision into the dark basement, he set her down to begin the setup of her new encasement.

It was a small room to begin with, but he had kept people hooked up to IV's down there before. They just never lasted as long as he hoped they would. He laid her down on a small cot in the corner and shut the door, locking it behind him. He finally had his prey. He hadn't been this pleased in a long, long, time.

Not to long after, she woke laying in a cold cot in the corner of a room that looked like some sort of basement cut in half. Shaking slightly, she stood and let herself come back to her human form. Painfully her nails retracted and her teeth pulled back in her mouth, which created a small growl in the back of her throat.

Now in human form she looked around, assessing her best way to escape.

How could she let him best her? Well he was a vampire. The stuff of legends. The criminal responsible for…

She shook her head and growled again.

Quietly, she tried to open the only window in her new cell, but it was barred over and was only about a foot long.

She slumped against the wall facing her imminent death, unless she could find a weakness. Unless she could find anything. All she had was hope.

_**M**__ark was humming…_

_**...**_ _a haunting tune in a minor key._

_**W**__hat a fucking psychopath. _


End file.
